


Swish, Swish

by aldiara



Category: Alles was zaehlt
Genre: Alles was zählt - Freeform, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-02
Updated: 2010-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-12 08:44:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldiara/pseuds/aldiara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes your demons come back to haunt you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swish, Swish

“This is, like, weird shit.” Bulle stares at the creped fabric in his hand, brow furrowed in trepidation. “Are you sure I…?

“Carsten,” says Roman, and Bulle can’t help but shudder. Roman has a way of saying his name, spitting it out low and challenging like he’s throwing a rock at him, and somehow, against all rhyme or reason, it’s incredibly sexy. “I need hardly remind me that you owe me. Indulge me, will you?”

Bulle says nothing, not trusting his voice to work right now, but he does bend over and step into the stiff ring of material, pulling it up around his waist. He stands self-consciously before Roman’s gaze, feeling painfully stupid. Roman’s just standing there, one strap of his tank top falling off his shoulder, a tiny, strange smile around his lips. Bulle hates that he wants to kiss him, but what he hates even more is the fact that he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. “C’mon, man,” he says, and can’t quite help the pleading note in his voice. “What’s next, a fucking arabesque?”

Roman grins, and steps up close, running an idle hand along the starched seam of the pink tutu and then following the run of the fabric to Bulle’s bare skin. “That would probably end in disaster.”

“Damn right,” mutters Bulle; the burn of humiliation is keenly felt, but there’s another sort of burn that seems to emanate from Roman’s palm, gliding firmly up his bare chest from the waistband of the tutu. He wonders what Roman would do if he grasped his wrist and pulled him close. Whether he’d stiffen and shove him away, or…

“A pirouette will do, for now.”

Bulle’s head shoots up. He’s hoping against hope to find a sign that Roman’s kidding in his face, but no such luck, of course. Roman’s eyes are dancing wickedly, but his brow is cocked in expectation, and he takes half a step back, crossing his arms.

“No way,” Bulle blurts.

Roman’s brow slips higher. “Carsten,” he admonishes, and fuck him, he must know what the sound of his name from his lips does to him. He murmurs something extremely crude.

Roman grins. “Maybe… later. Pirouette first.”

Bulle rolls his eyes. Presses his lips firmly together. Extends his arms and swings wildly around his own axis. He feels the tutu swishing as he does. _Swishing._ Promptly, the world slips out of alignment and he flails, arms waving wildly, trying to regain his balance. “Fuck!” he exclaims, as the floor tilts towards him, and then there’s a warm wash of laughter, and Roman catches him, and then the world tilts again, but in a different way.

Later, he’ll say it was all the fucking tutu’s fault, of course.


End file.
